


Home

by terrys_chocklit_orange



Category: Actor RPF, Star Wars RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6786778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrys_chocklit_orange/pseuds/terrys_chocklit_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“Let's get married.” A small knot of anxiety begins to form in Adam's stomach. They haven't exactly talked about it before, not in so many words, but they own houses together on both sides of the Atlantic, and they've known each other for more than a decade. It's not like this is out of the blue."</p><p>Standard RPF disclaimer: This is all completely made up, and has no bearing on reality whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

Adam looks out the living room window. It's grey and dreary, but Ireland, he's discovered, is usually grey and dreary, unless it's sunny and windy. The house overlooks Malahide beach, a stretch of coarse, rocky sand bordering water so cold, it feels like leaping into liquid nitrogen if you're foolish enough to dip a toe in. 

Still, there's a lot Adam loves about Ireland. He loves the scenery. He loves that it's relatively close to London, where he's thinking about doing a West End play, if his agent can find the right project. He loves that it's the home of Domhnall's family, who are outgoing and overwhelming in a way his family of ministers and librarians isn't. They accepted him from the first. When Domhnall's mother looked him up and down and said, “Our Domhnall shouldna got involved wit' a married man,” Adam steeled himself for the dressing down he very much deserved. Instead, Mary laughed, hugged him close and said, “But we're ever so glad he did, love.” 

Most of all, Adam loves the Irish people. They're warm and funny and, when he and Domhnall go out, nobody ever recognises them. Or if they do, they don't say anything. Stateside—Adam still thinks of it that way, like a Marine—they aren't Brangelina or Kardashian-level tabloid fodder, but they have been papped numerous times, holding hands outside restaurants and walking through airports. Domhnall lets him know when the pictures appear online, usually with a critical remark about the photographer's skills or his own choice of wardrobe that day. Adam still avoids the Internet as much as possible. It's getting less possible all the time. 

“I'm home, love.” Adam turns around as Domhnall comes in the door, his arms full of Dunnes Stores shopping bags. He mouths a kiss in Adam's direction. Adam takes a step forward to help, but Domhnall says, “No, no, don't trouble yourself. You're clearly up to something important there.” He grins cheekily and heads into the kitchen with his bags. 

When Adam first met Domhnall, he doubted they'd ever be friends, let alone anything else. He did his job well, and Adam respected him as an actor, but he was flirtatious and flamboyant and loud. Everything Adam is not. It took years of filming, press junkets and convention appearances before Domhnall began to grow on him—“like a particularly attractive mould,” Domhnall said, when Adam told him that—and several more years until Adam realised he couldn't live without him. Didn't want to, anyway. 

Adam's one regret is that they didn't wait until well after his completely mutual, entirely amicable divorce was final. It was poor form on Adam's part, and it meant that later, some people saddled Domhnall with retrospective blame that didn't belong to him at all. 

They kept things quiet on the set of Episode IX and during the year between the end of filming and the movie's premiere. Then, at Comic Con just weeks before the movie was set to debut, they were sitting on a panel when Domhnall squeezed Adam's knee beneath the table. It wasn't an unusual act, but it struck an unusual chord in Adam. He didn't, he realised, want to hide any more. So there, in front of a hall full of devoted Star Wars fans, he leaned over and kissed Domhnall on the mouth. 

Adam could feel Domhnall's smile beneath his lips, but Domhnall didn't hesitate to kiss back. When they separated after an almost indecently long moment, the room was silent. Adam could feel himself start to blush. That wasn't like him at all. He didn't know what had come over him. But before he could regret it, Gwendoline said, “Well, I think that calls for congratulations,” into her microphone, and started a round of applause that lasted longer than any ovation Adam had received in his life. 

In the kitchen, Domhnall is loading his groceries into the refrigerator. It's a big one, called “American style,” and Adam insisted on it. He knew a little European fridge just wasn't going to cut it in his house. Adam walks up behind Domhnall and puts his arms around him, tilting his head to place a kiss on Domhnall's neck. 

“I thought we'd do curry and naan tonight,” Domhnall says, leaning back a little. “Just a korma. I know you've got a sensitive American stomach, I don't want to tax you...” He keeps on, babbling about curries and unpacking his bags. Adam stops listening. He's having a revelation. 

He loves Domhnall; he's never been so happy as when they're together. Whenever they're apart, due to filming or promo or other job-related reasons, Adam is miserable, counting the days until they can be together again. 

All of a sudden, it's like being back on that Comic Con stage again. He wants things to move forward, now. _So what are you waiting for?_ He asks himself. 

“Let's get married,” Adam says, the words tumbling out before he can second guess himself. 

“What?” That gets Domhnall's attention. He stops talking about dinner and turns. “What did you say?”

“Let's get married.” A small knot of anxiety begins to form in Adam's stomach. They haven't exactly talked about it before, not in so many words, but they own houses together on both sides of the Atlantic, and they've known each other for more than a decade. It's not like this is out of the blue. 

“You can't ask me that!” Domhnall shrieks. “I've got bloody chicken in my hands. Here.” He sticks the tray of raw chicken in the fridge and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Try again. Properly.” Adam opens his mouth. Domhnall points to the tiled kitchen floor. Adam rolls his eyes, but he kneels, his knees cracking as he goes down. 

“Domhnall,” he says, in a suitably dramatic voice, “will you marry me?”

Domhnall affects a pensive look. “All right,” he says, after a moment's pause. “Yeah, I suppose so.” 

Adam smiles. Domhnall always has that effect on him; there aren't many people who do. He's about to stand up again when Domhnall kneels in front of him and puts his arms around Adam's shoulders.

They've both got a few days' worth of stubble, which rasps together as they kiss. It's a pleasant feeling, a comforting one that Adam knows will grow into an arousing one if they keep at it for long. “Want to fuck?” Domhnall murmurs. It's sexy and alluring and, being Domhnall, he doesn't stop there. “We'd better get it while we can. Everyone knows married people have the _worst_ sex. Just the other day...” 

Adam picks him up. It's relatively easy. Even with Domhnall's height, he's light, and Adam has worked hard to maintain his physique as he's grown older. Domhnall laughs with delight, ducking his head as Adam carries him up the narrow staircase to their bedroom. 

Adam loves Ireland. In fact, he thinks, tossing Domhnall onto their bed, his favourite place in the world is anywhere Domhnall chooses to be.


End file.
